


White

by Tiz



Series: Colour of Roses [1]
Category: Farseer Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Liveship Traders Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Tawny Man Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: Action, Angst, Beginning of a Series, Fantasy, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Plot, Plot-Driven, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiz/pseuds/Tiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the White Rose blooms<br/>We shall meet once more<br/>I shall watch upon you<br/>As you fight your own war</p><p>When the White Rose blooms<br/>I shall welcome you again<br/>I hope you will forgive me<br/>As I have forgiven the pain</p><p>(Fragment from "When the Roses Bloom" by FitzChivalry Farseer)</p><p>When does a story start?<br/>Some would say that it starts when another ends.<br/>Others would say that no story has a clear beginning or, for the matter, a clear end, but that all stories weave in and out of each other like the threads of a loom.<br/>Both theories, and others, are perhaps true. But when I think about setting on paper this last part of my story, I know in my heart when it starts. Others might think this is not the true beginning, that I should have begun my story when I chose to leave the Six Duchies, or when I had the dream that left my bones aching and my eyes burning, or even before, when I came out of the Skill-Pillar. To them I would answer that I alone know when this story begins. And it begins thusly...</p><p>[The world of the Realms of the Elderlings belongs to Robin Hobb and to the rightful owners of the rights. No money for me here. :)]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snow

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest thanks to Sand Dun, my first and incredible beta, without whom I would never be able to get this far :D  
> A lot of thanks to Carlile, as well, for her invaluable help.
> 
> This is the first part of a very, very long story of which I have some 55k words already written. It will be updated weekly. I hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoyed writing it. :)

** Chapter 1: Snow **

_A history of Clerres is a history of its highways._

_Some would say it is a history of the White Prophets. That I will also concede. Still, while it is true the Whites' words and deeds are the spirit of Clerres, the flesh of the land lies in its thoroughfares, called not by chance "Dkar Lam" or "White Roads". Those roads exist, as everybody knows, to allow the Prophet the ritual pilgrimages among all the courts and lands of Clerres and to spread his Wisdom. The maintenance and safety of the White Roads is so essential for the people of Clerres, from the city-dwelling people of Vietmar to the nomadic tribe of Kizah, that attacking somebody on a White Road is punishable by immediate death. No king, no ruler, has ever tried to change this ancient law, even though few of them have fallen prey to it._

_The White Roads were created for the White Prophet, but everyone can walk on them in relative safety. They are the blood vessels that unite the so very different countries and lands of Clerres in one unique entity._

 

 

I shielded my eyes from the merciless winter sun with one hand, loosely gripping my battle-axe with the other. All I could see around me were the sharp white peaks of the mountains that surrounded us. A cutting wind, riddled with the sparkling flakes of snow caught up from the ground, gently urged me forward toward the cliff in front of me. The cliff shielded a deep canyon, an open wound in an earth of black and white, as devoid of colour as of life.

Yet the sight was breathtaking in its harshness. Perhaps El, the Sea God of my birthplace, dwelt here as much as in the vengeful waters of the Out Islands.

I squinted and wondered not for the first time, why the most ancient White Temples had been built in such an unforgiving climate, especially considering the Whites' own dislike for cold. Perhaps it was the association of White and snow. Still, these mountains had held the center of the disjointed, shifting huddle of countries and lands that called itself Clerres for longer than the Dragons had been in the sky.

_Changer, you should come closer. They are coming._

My Wit-companion's mental words tore me from my musing.

I turned, half walking and half sliding over the snow, taking a longer route down the cliff. My own white garments, furs and heavy bleached wool would make me hard to see. I raised my cap to hide my black hair and fastened it under my chin.

I quested out, searching with the Wit and the Skill, and smiled grimly. Five people were coming.

No, six people. I knew it, even if I couldn't feel one of them.

Dimly, at the verge of my awareness, My wolf-dog drifted on the other side of the canyon. She was moving closer to the group.

The hunt was on.

I looked around, searching for the right place. Not so close that they would get at me before I had a chance to shoot at least two of them, but not so far away that I would have trouble leaping at them with my axe.

I slid some more, looked around, and crouched behind a protruding rock, the sun over my shoulders. I left my battle-axe on the ground and picked up the small, stiff bow that the people of Clerres' steppes use. Its double arches belie its size and redouble its power.

I nocked an arrow, and stood still, waiting.

For a moment, memories assailed me, memories of a similar hunt on another mountain a life and half a world away; memories of a woman who could shoot far better than I could. I entertained them for an instant before setting them aside too.

_Here they are._

I didn't bother to search for my bonded animal; her white fur would make her invisible. I had other things to watch for.

Five people approached dressed in the colorful garb of their home countries.

I recognized the furred cap, long sleeves, and round metal ornaments of the mountain people; the fine, light green silk trousers and gown and the embroidered coats of the insular Malach; and the long, black-and-crystal, jewel-littered robes of Khizah. Regal clothes, with multiple touches of white fit for the kings and princes who wore them. No one but royalty could be present here on the mountain while the Prophet retired in the most ancient of his Temples.

I noted these things swiftly, hardly even conscious of the thoughts. My eyes were drawn to the sixth figure and my heart leapt like a buck caught unaware.

He was dragged by two of the princes; his feet leaving twin tracks in the snow, his brown head limp. My lips thinned. Drugged or concussed, I supposed. Or so I hoped, for the sake of the five that surrounded him.

I took a breath, forcing myself to ignore the wild beating of my heart, and drew my bow to aim at the one furthest from my old friend.

_Now!_

My fingers moved in the same moment that my companion and I shared the thought. The arrow flew and, in the same heartbeat, a lump of snow burst into teeth and claws, tearing away at the one on the Fool's left.

Both the man I hit and the one my wolf-dog took by the throat screamed, but only the mountain echoed their cries. I had time to shoot a second arrow, piercing the Malach Heir-Prince, Awag, in his thigh. I let the bow fall and took the axe, and jumped and slid out of my hiding place.

Two people were still uninjured. Another lay dead or dying, killed by my arrow. I recognized Ananda, a high-noble of this mountain, dead in the snow, and Khan Yartay of Kizah under my companion's fang, his last breaths like a gurgling pot. Awag had fallen too, marring the white snow with blood—more from surprise than pain, I suspected, but he couldn't move easily with my arrow sticking high from his thigh.

The black eyes of Yara, another mountain noble, met mine and flashed with recognition. But she had no weapon; none could be carried here. For a second, I was only an apparition of white, and the sun at my shoulder blinded them.

I raised my axe, the smell of blood thick around me.

Battle-rage had always come easy to me, and I knew I could let no one of them live. So did they. Khan Nurik of the Khizah tried to run, but it was no use. The others tried to fight, weaponless as they were. They had bravery, if no hope of success.

The shadows of the boulders had barely moved, but where there had been six people, now only one lived.

Or so I hoped.

I let my bloodied battle-axe fall on the ground close to where the one who tried to run had fallen, leaving its shape in the pink snow, and went to my Fool's side.

My Wit-companion padded closer, her blue eyes on my now distant friend. She raised her nose in the air.

_Truly he is the Scentless One. Brother mine, I smell no others. We hunted well today._

I nodded at her, walking dazedly away, squinting in the harsh reflected light.

_A good hunt, Sister, even if I don't cherish hunting my own._

The wolf-dog shrugged, cleaning her bloodied muzzle in the snow.

_A meatless hunt certainly. Still, humans hunt for reasons other than meat, and so do both wolves and dogs. We won and our own is safe. We can be whole again._

Not for the first time, I marveled at her comprehension of events that happened before her birth.

I had reached the place where the kidnappers and would-be murderers had let my friend fall. He had fallen face down on the snow, and I could only see his brown, airy hair, his back and his left arm.

His dark gold skin seemed even richer in colour against the White Prophet clothes: a long, white robe, embroidered with geometric patterns that hinted at flowers and butterflies in all the colors of the rainbow; wide trousers, and pointed shoes, soft white doe-skin decorated with wooden pearls in all the shades of brown. Even unconscious, he looked otherworldly, a creature of a better World fallen by chance from the sky.

I reached to touch him, and my gloved hand came back wet.

Water. They had soaked him.

Abruptly, I turned him. The people of the mountain know well of hypothermia—both how to fight it and how to facilitate it.

My Wit-companion was instantly at my side.

_Changer, there is still fire where we laired._

I nodded, taking off my cloak and wrapping it around him, to block the worst of the mountain wind from his flesh. Cold gripped me immediately, but I cared not.

I put my hands under his knees and shoulders and rose, holding the carefully bundled Fool close to me. I had forgotten, as I always do, how delicate he is despite his strength. His bones shifted in my arms like the bones of a bird.

A pang of some nameless emotion struck me, leaving me breathless for a second. I blinked.

_Brother?_

I shook my head and jogged toward the end of the canyon, wondering about the fastest path to the small cave where we had laired the day before.

My boots crunched into the snow, and I sank up to my ankles.

The white wolf-dog ran ahead of me, choosing the path. She had a better snow-sense than I had, and I had learned in my time in the Mountain Kingdom, so far away, that snow could hide danger.

I almost ran over the side of the canyon from the same direction I had come earlier in the day. The sun was in my eyes now, and I had to walk with my eyes almost closed. I trusted my companion, grateful for her greater abilities on this harsh terrain.

Soon, a wall, almost black with patches of white snow, blocked the sun. Panting and carefully shifting the bundle in my arms, I turned around a fallen rock. There was a crack, barely big enough for a man to pass, and so short I had to bow to enter. But there was still red glow from the fire I had left burning when I went to hunt men.

I fear I scraped my friend in my haste get inside. I laid him down carefully on the blankets I left there, and turned to rekindle the fire, shivering from the cold. Soon we had a hearty fire going, and the small cave, which was really nothing more than a long, narrow crack in the mountain, warmed up.

I felt my wolf-dog leaving, but I did not quest towards her. She could care for herself better than I could. I turned toward the Fool.

While I started to undress him, I reflected on the change in the plans. I had planned to kill the people who wanted to kill him, and then bring him in the hidden temple where he was headed. I knew he would be unconscious. Still, I couldn't carry him or leave him in wet clothes. I took off his outer garments and laid them near the fire to dry. I was pleased to discover that his inner clothes were only damp. His captors probably thought to drench him one more time before leaving him to his fate. The thought made me clench my jaw.

I rubbed his slim hands, carefully refraining from touching his Skill-fingers; then his arms, then his legs, to bring back the blood. All the while, the Fool didn't stir, his breathing even.

I started to rub his chest. Then my hands halted. Carefully, I pulled at a silk string that ran around the slender neck of my Fool and a small jewel, a tear of opal mounted on black stone and wood, appeared. I hitched my breath and exhaled. Muscles I hadn't realized were tense suddenly unknotted. He wasn't severely hurt. He couldn't be.

I put it down again, and carefully searched under his airy hair for lumps or sore spots, the brown strands like silk among my fingers. I found none. Probably some drug, then. I bundled the blankets tighter around him, to help him keep his warm.

Then I sighed, throwing some more wood into the fire and eyeing the remaining pile. I hadn't prepared for this. It was never the plan to stay in the small cave beyond the previous night. There was some kindling for the fire, but not much.

_Other wood can be found, Brother, but you shouldn't leave your kill where they are._

I lifted my eyes, already aware of my companion presence in the mouth of the cave. Between her strong jaws laid my battle-axe. I blinked. I hadn't noticed that I had left it in the snow.

The wolf-dog trotted toward me, leaving the weapon at my side. It fell with a metallic sound, too loud on the bare rocks.

_I can't leave the Scentless One alone now. I fear he has been drugged._

She moved her ears, pitching them in alarm and glanced towards the unmoving figure of my friend. She knew of poison, and didn't like it.

_That is a wrong way to kill your hunt._

I shook my head, extending a hand to scratch under her throat.

_Not to kill. Just to sleep. Nobody here would dare to kill a Prophet. They would let the cold do the job and swear it was not done by their hands._

I could feel her thinking, mulling over what I said. Then she rose and shook her body, as if to shrug off her pondering. I smiled. Even with her understanding, this was too human a thing for my wolf-dog.

_I understand it not. Dead meat is dead meat, Brother mine. Alas, they are your people and not mine. We don't have much food. I'll hunt._

I smiled again at her reasoning, as always refreshed by it, and watched her go.

 _You just like to hunt in the snow, for it hides you,_ I teased her. A snort was her only answer while her bushy white tail, raised with great dignity, disappeared from my sight. I almost laughed and turned to watch the Fool.

Two dark brown eyes met mine.

I froze.

I noticed dimly that the Fool eyes were now almost as dark as mine had been. His face... My eyes searched it, hungry for something I couldn't recognize. I had not been this close to him in too long a time. He looked as young as when he left me, more than thirty years ago. So did I.

Under his pigment, he had gone an alarming shade of gray, and an expression of pure shock marred his delicate features, his pupils so large they almost erased the fine dark brown of the iris.

I spoke before I could stop myself.

"Have you no greeting for me, Fool?" I asked in the tongue of my birth.

He went paler still. His eyes fluttered as he fainted back into the covers.

 

 

 

 

 

** CLERRES'S MAP **

 

 

(A better map will come up shortly.)


	2. Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second week, second chapter :D I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> My deepest thanks to Sand Dun, again :D  
> A lot of thanks to Carlile, as well, for her invaluable help and willingness to work a lot on a tight schedule :S Thank you!

** Chapter 2: Ice **

 

 

 

  


 

_Akhel: This word and rune had a complex meaning. It signified, in its baser form "Duty". However, it could also be translated as "what defines you" and, in a musical instrument, it meant "pitch". The idea behind the word is that our duties define who we are, made us "us", and that we should try to be like instrument, sounding the song of ourselves in the purest way we could._

 

I rose to all four and crawled toward him. I thought I had long since overcome my habit of speaking before thinking, but evidently my Fool brought back old feelings in me.

The stone floor of the small cave scraped my knees while I went, and the back of it was so narrow that I had to loom over him or to lie next to him in order to check how he was. I chose to lie down.

The blankets cushioned the floor somewhat. I tugged off a glove with my teeth and touched his forehead. Cool, but not too cold. The feeling of his skin, so different and yet so familiar, constricted something in my throat. I breathed slowly. Only shock. He would be fine soon.

I wormed my way under the blankets, the only ones I had, and waited, my mind aflame and my eyes burning.

This was never the plan, either. He should never have seen me. Yet I could not bring myself to care, just then. I watched his profile, my face close to his. There were perhaps one or two lines that hadn't been there before, and his skin was now a warm bronze colour. The reflection of the fire brightened his hair to its old gold.

Words like threads of gold entwined in my mind, whispering with a voice of their own.

 _"Kesha. Dahshal s'nash-veh heh worla dahshal. Worla eh kwon-sum estuhn heh vesht estuhl. Dhil'a. Dhil'amin. ”_ Perhaps I said them aloud. I couldn't tell. Tears pricked my eyes, soothing the burn. I blinked and let out a shaky breath against the constriction in my throat.

I don't know how long I lay there, still and waiting and watching. It could have been a long time.

Then my Fool stirred, frowning a little, and I tensed, my eyes fixed on his face. He sighed, frowned, and opened his eyes with a small noise, blinking at the cave ceiling. Then he turned his head and saw me. He stared at me for one incredibly tense moment, his face utterly blank with shock. His eyes were nearly as dark as mine had been, the colour of Jamailan coffee. My heart leapt and thundered; I could feel my blood rushing into my ears. I knew what he was seeing.

He opened his mouth, trying to speak. No words came out, only a small puff of air, mixed with a  short, coughing sound. He tried again, with much of the same result. Then he disentangled a graceful hand from the blankets and brought it to his throat, massaging it and blinking.

I exhaled, suddenly knowing what drug they had fed him.

"They gave you the juice of thurda roots." I said quietly to him. I knew the plant, indigenous to Malach. When the juice is massaged over muscles, it relaxes them. It can be drunk, and then it makes one sleep deeply for hours, and be weak for perhaps a day more. But it also relaxes the muscle of the throat, making speech or simple sounds impossible and swallowing difficult. They wanted to be sure that even if my friend awoke before his death, he would be unable to call for help.

My Fool blinked again. He turned on his side to face me. He seemed to ignore my words and reached to my face with his free hand, wonderingly. Then his hand moved down to my neck and my cheeks and gently smoothed the hair back from my forehead. He touched me slowly, quietly. He didn't seem able to stop, nor to help himself, like he feared my presence to be a part of a dream, ready to shatter under his hands. I held still, sharing his covers in the small cave, smiling at him. I had no words to give and no care for failed plans.

In the end, his hand stopped on the back of my head and he put his forehead against mine, our old gesture and something unnamed blossomed in my heart. His eyes searched mine, a look of utter confusion in them.

I watched his eyes. I knew the reason for his stare.

I opened my dry lips to speak, but I closed them again. I had not felt such emotions in a long, long time. My heart felt like a rusty tool, ready to break if used again.

I drew a shaky breath.

_Brother, our kill lies in the snow. Soon, scavengers will come. And, perhaps, others._

I blinked and tore my eyes from the Fool's, rising on my elbow. My companion sat on her haunches at the mouth of the cave, a snow hare at her feet. She rose, edged between the fire and the icy walls, and padded noiselessly toward us. The Fool followed my gaze, and his eyes rested on the white wolf-dog.

They regarded each other carefully, while I regarded them.

For the first time in many years, I observed my companion impartially. She may look like a great wolf with a white coat, but some signs show her for what she is. She has the muscular proportions of the dog, and as such is actually heavier than a wolf of similar size would be. She has the larger feet, longer legs, and the long snout of a wolf. Her canine teeth are bigger and sharper than a dog's, and her skull is of a slightly different shape. The biggest difference however is in her ears. They are only partially erect, the tips facing down.

My Wit-partner wagged her tail and whined, barking a little. I almost smiled at my friend's obvious confusion. When the wolf-dog came closer still and lapped at his cheek, the look of pure shock on the Fool's face was priceless. I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the cave. It felt good. It had been a long time since I had last laughed.

When I stopped, two pairs of eyes were watching me with a matching expression of mock outrage.

"I don't know if it is a good idea to introduce you two but... Fool, this is Snowcloud, my companion. She is Nightseyes' granddaughter." Snowcloud wagged her tail again and tried to lap at the Fool's face for a second time.

I bit my lip to avoid laughing when my friend put both his arms over his face to stop her, but his lips too were curved into a smile. I felt pain at the reminder of Nightseyes, but the ghost of a memory moved in the back of my mind. _Pack_. I smiled again.

"And, Snowcloud, he is..." I hesitated a moment. My Fool, but not the Fool, that I knew. I watched him for a second, while he stubbornly protected his face from Snowcloud.

_I don't need names, Changer. I know who he is. He is the Scenteless One._

I smiled.

"Yes. He is." The Fool had lowered his arms, but he peered suspiciously at Snowcloud, who watched him with the look of pure innocence of the truly guilty dog.

_You need to hide your kill, if you don't want others to find it. And I smell snow in the air._

I sobered again and glanced at the Fool, who was watching me like he still didn't believe his eyes. He closed them and opened them again, like he feared I would somehow disappear. His gaze slowly wandered from me to the cave opening to his outer clothes still in front of the fire. I saw him shiver and bring the blankets closer to him.

_I'll stay with him if you fear leaving him alone. He looks amusing._

I nodded and left the warmth of the blankets under the watchful gaze of my Fool.

"I need to take care of the bodies." I said quietly. I saw him wince and something in me that hadn't stirred in decades moved. I thinned my lips, but I didn't offer explanations. He knew, I was sure of it. If he didn't like the act, that made it no less essential. "Snowcloud will stay with you. There is wood enough for the fire." I had already turned my back to leave when I felt a cool touch on my wrist.

The pain was unexpected, and jarring. I almost cried out. The sensation was different from anything I had ever felt. For a moment, I felt acid flowing through the veins of my wrist, moving as fast as lightning to my heart. It was brief, and left me feeling scorched.

I closed my eyes for a second, and then, my face showing nothing, I turned to him.

It wasn't even his Skill-hand deftly placed around my wrist. He gripped me with all the strength he could muster in his current drug-weakened state, and his gaze was steel. There was a silent pleading in his dark eyes that I knew, after years in Clerres, a Prophet should never wear. His forearm trembled in his effort to keep me here. I blinked. Surely he understood I couldn't leave the bodies there?

"I have to do it." I said quietly, looking at him. "I'll be back as soon as I've finished,” I promised, when the first part only brought a clench in his jaw and a more stubborn look in his eyes. Reluctantly, he let me go. I hesitated a second before bowing down and placing my forehead against his. Again his eyes searched mine, but I couldn't read their depths—not from a lack of emotions, but the presence of too many of them at once. I breathed in for a second, and sat on my haunches, fastening my cloak again around my shoulders before rising to my feet and hunching out.

The full force of the cold wind hit me.

I had been focused on the hunt before and hadn't noticed it, but now after the warmth of the small cave, its force was jarring. I felt instantly awake, and I stood a second or two in the snow, looking without seeing at the distant peaks crowned in clouds. I put my gloved hand on my forehead and clenched my jaw. Too many things had gone wrong. Save the most important. He was alive. He would live.

I started to walk toward the cliff, blindly, the sun now beyond the mountain, the world packed in shadows. I was shaking, but not from the cold. Alive. I had succeeded. I fell to my knees, lowering my head and breathing in long harsh gulps. I let the wind blow around me. He would live.

After some minutes, I stood again and went down to the cliff by the same route I had used before.

The bodies of the five princes and kings lay in the snow, already half frozen. I watched them in silence for a second, before going to the closest one and taking it by the ankles. There was a deep ravine not far away; it would be the tomb of the Kings who had died trying to kill a Prophet.

One by one, I threw them in it. Then I stood still. I had no words for them, no salute. I had killed them to save him. That was all I could say.

I raised my head, sniffing the wind. Snowcloud was right. It smelled of snow. I turned, watching the place of the massacre. Fresh snow would cover the blood. Nobody would ever know the fate of prince Awag of Malach, of the Twin-Nobles Ananda and Yara of Behit, nor of the Khans Nurik and Yartay of Kizah. Some would surely suspect at least some of it. Nobody would speak.

I turned and found myself facing the opposite side of the canyon, a sheer wall of ice, smooth and clear as a mirror. I stopped in my tracks, studying myself. Tall. Wavy black hair down to my shoulders. Even after all these years away from the Six Duchies, I could never renounce the warrior tail. My features are quite strong, and my broken nose used to be the first part of my face that anyone notice. Used to be. Now, most people notice my eyes first. They are of a tawny gold shade, not unlike dark amber. I turned away. The Fool remembered me with dark brown eyes, the eyes I was born with. He had noticed, too, the most obvious of the changes in me.

I closed my eyes and walked with care, retracing my steps. There was so much to think that my mind felt as frozen as the landscape. Political implications: what would these five deaths mean for Vietmar? And now, the White Prophet knew of me. The White Prophet. My beloved Fool. My friend. Was he still any of those things?

I raised my head and blankly watched the stone that partly covered the cave mouth. Then I sighed and entered.

The Fool had managed to sit up, bundled in the blankets. He raised his head when I went inside and a light seemed to kindle within his dark eyes. I stood frozen, looking at him for a second. I couldn't stop it more than a man thirsty to death could stop drinking pure water.

_Brother mine, if you can stop gawking at your mate, you could start preparing the hare I caught._

I jumped at Snowcloud's mind-voice and looked at her accusingly. She was comfortably sprawled at the Fool's side, and lolled her tongue at me.

_He is not my mate._

She shrugged, putting her head between her paws and yawned, edging closer to the Fool. He scratched her throat, still looking at me.

_So you say. The hare still needs to be prepared._

I snorted, shook my head and smiled. Snowcloud preferred cooked meat to raw.

"I fear you will have problems swallowing. I'll make you some hot broth." I glanced out, frowning. The wind was rising, howling in the mountains like a caged beast. I could almost see the Wind Horse that the people of the mountain of Behit believed brought the souls of the dead to the next world. I wondered if he would bring the people I killed.

I would need to pack the snow, outside the cave, too, or we would freeze before morning. I was trying to avoid his eyes. I was blushing, and not knowing why.

I hesitated, and then I put the small pot on the fire to make a dried-meat broth for my Fool. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me like a physical force. I supposed he would have come closer to me, if he could have. But the juice of the Thurda Root made his muscles lax and his movements clumsy, and we had fire and flammable blankets in too little a space.

I took some snow and put it in the metallic pot, and then put the pot on the fire to melt the snow. I glanced at the wood. It would last until morning. Then...

I sighed and turned toward my friend. As I'd thought, he hadn't taken his eyes from me. His graceful hands rested over the covers, one inside the other, his expression so intense it looked almost like pain. He gestured to me, perhaps beckoning me to come closer. He was clearly trying to stay awake despite the sleeping draught he had drunk.

I stood and went to pack the snow over the mouth of the cave.

The wind almost robbed me of my cloak, its cold sharper than a thousand daggers. I started to pack loads of snow to offer us enough cover from the wind but not so much that the fire would suffocate us.

Even with gloved hands, pressing the snow into compacted blocks and then piling them up was cold, hard work. After half an hour of labor, I entered the cave again, knelt, and placed the last blocks. I sat on my haunches for some seconds, shivering. The wall of snow, open at the top, would keep out the wind and the worst of the snow. I turned. As soon as I entered, I felt the weight of my Fool’s gaze.

I smiled at him, from the other side of the fire, but he didn't smile back. He was looking at me, frowning, probably still angry because I had ignored him before. He was lying down again; his weakened state wouldn't allow him to sit up for long periods. His head was propped up by Snowcloud flank. I groaned.

 _Traitor_. I teased her, but I was pleased. I smiled. Snowcloud turned to look at me with pure innocence in her blue eyes.

_Now, Changer... I quite like him. He is amusing. And he has such pleasing fur. Does he hunt? Without scent, he would be a good hunting partner._

A pang of longing for similar words, remembered from long ago, choked me. I watched my Fool again. He was still frowning at me, and his arms were crossed over his chest. Ah. I supposed that the only thing currently saving me was his inability to talk, which was surely driving him mad. As mad as my ignoring of his previous gestures, possibly.

I turned and busied myself with preparing broth from the now boiling water and skinning the hare. Then I washed my hands in the snow, wincing.

The whole time, I watched the Fool from the corner of my eye. He was studying my clothes, an easy way in Clerres to determine where somebody is from. I knew what saw: clothes that nobody would be allowed to wear, save him. Completely white attire is forbidden to everybody in Clerres but the White Prophet, though nobles often use almost-white garments. Yet one of the first acts of my friend as a Prophet had been to add embroidery and beads to his outfits. I smiled at that. My Fool.

"I chose white because I needed camouflage amongst the snow, even if it is forbidden. I planned to burn those clothes tomorrow." I explained, without turning from my stirring of the broth. I saw him jump and I smiled a little more. It was getting warm. I took off my cloak and crawled to put it over the blankets. He took it, wrapping it around himself. I looked at his face, worried.

"How are your fingers?" I asked, quietly, fearing frost-injury. He shook his head and showed me his ungloved hands. I took them in mine and examined them, the cool feeling of his skin so familiar that it brought another smile on my lips. He shivered. I frowned a little.

_I've never seen you smiling so much, Brother._

I decided to ignore the wolf-dog's comment, and raised my eyes to the Fool. The almost-pained expression was still on his face. I knew not what to make of it.

"Everything seems fine. You..."

I never finished the sentence. He raised his left hand and touched the corner of my eye. I froze. His gaze was steady and demanding. I closed my eyes, my throat tight. His fingertips ghosted over my eyelids, and his first two fingers stopped on my temple, barely touching my skin. I opened my eyes again and watched his eyes. I had not thought I would speak to him, ever again. And yet, here I was.

So much for visions.

There was no escape, I knew. I would have to explain everything. Everything.

But not right then.

The sound of sizzling water saved me,. We both startled and he let his hand fall. I went to the fire and poured the broth into a small wooden bowl, adding some snow to cool it down. The hare was not yet ready. With my back to him, I hesitated a second and added a pinch of sleeping powder, taken from my medicinal pouch, to the broth. A cowardly act, but I couldn't face him. I felt suddenly tired. I had killed three times that day, and prepared the hunt and the lair. I could not stand my friend's silent questioning, his piercing gaze, his obvious confusion. I could not face a future for which I had not prepared.

I turned and carefully crawled towards him. He took the bowl from my hands and raised an eyebrow. I smiled ruefully. The bowl was one of his, a possession that had come with me from the Six Duchies.

He drank the broth slowly and carefully.

Five minutes later, he was asleep. I watched him while a snowstorm raged outside. His expression was again peaceful, his breathing steady. He was beautiful, a vision of burnished gold and light. I stood still, my back to the wall, hugging my knees, watching him, drinking in his presence.

 _What are we going to do, Sister?_ I asked my companion helplessly.

She turned her head toward me, still acting as a pillow for my Fool.

_I don't know, Brother. I don't know._

I sighed. A jumble of conflicting emotions warred within me, leaving me exhausted. The hare was ready, and Snowcloud and I shared it, my mind so full of thoughts they clouded each other. Then I wormed my way inside the blankets and carefully put my arms around him. I closed my eyes, letting the sound of his breathing and the comforting presence of Snowcloud lull me to sleep.

Something in the back of my mind whispered. _Pack. Whole._

I slept. Once more, I dreamt I was safe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

** Snowcloud **


	3. Clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, 60 hits, who would have thought? I didn't know there were as much as 10 people who searched for Farseer's fanfictions! :)
> 
> So, since we are likely fifteen or so, I would like to get to know my readers a bit :) I promise to answer every questions, unless it would be tooo spoilerish :P And certainly I'll answer to every comment. Comments are truly important, believe me. But even more so I would like to know your opinion on the serie, on the canon... Did you know there is going to be another Fool/Fitz book? :) Isn't it great?
> 
>  
> 
> As you may have noticed, in the last chapter there was a portraits. There will be others in the upcoming chapters. Those aren't mine, but of artists to whom I have commissioned the works :)
> 
>  
> 
> ______
> 
> My deepest thanks to Sand Dun, my first and incredible beta, without whom I would never be able to get this far :D  
> A lot of thanks to Carlile, as well, for her invaluable help.  
> How could I do without them? :)

 

**Chapter Three: Clouds **

****

_After the untimely death of King Sendàr, the kingdom of Vietmar found itself in a terrible situation. The late, mourned king left only one offspring, a boy not even in his second year of life. Since his co-husband was unsuitable to provide a brother with whom the little prince could share the burden of the crown, the Lords of the East and the West tried to produce a child of the correct age, a cousin for little Prince Chien to rule with. Coupled with King Chihn's decision to open the commerce with the Western Barbarians and his subduing of the island of Wantai, it created an unique, never seen before situation._

_From the Memories of Great Trainer Dihn_

 

 

Awakening brought pain.

I gasped and opened my eyes, while Snowcloud jumped on her feet in one fluid movement, growling. I lay motionless on the ground, gasping and my eyes flew open by themselves.

And found a matching pair.

For a second, lost in the searing, jarring pain, I thought I was looking into a mirror for the eyes that looked into mine were just a little lighter than my own. The expression was astonishment, though, not the pained one I knew mine had. The Fool made a keen noise, raising a bronze hand to my cheek.

No. Not my eyes. The Fool's. And that made me understand the reason of my pain.

I retreated the Skill-tendrils I had cast around upon waking, an old habit brought by too much time in places where the distinction between friend and enemy is thin.

The pain slowly left me. I lay still, shaking slightly.

_Brother, this is not good. What ails you?_

I sent a wordless thought of reassurance. I had no words to spare.

Dimly, I realized that my friend was frantic. His cool hands touched my face, and he tried to speak, small sounds that showed his fear. I breathed and I held him closer to me with one arm to try to ease his worry.

I felt his forehead touch mine, the cool touch welcomed on my inflamed skin. I opened my eyes again and managed a smile.

He was studying me, eyes wide and skin pallid, for him. I breathed deeply and smiled again.

"It is nothing, Fool. It is already passed" I said, sitting up. It did nothing to ease his worry, that I could see. He frowned, sitting with me. At least, the drug seemed to have left his body enough to allow him to use most of his muscles, if not his voice. He stretched his arms and shoulders a little, a sinuous writhing that looked as if he unfastened his bones from his joints and then put himself together again. I smiled, this time more fully and truly. He looked at me and seemed to be satisfied I was no longer in pain. He smiled back. But small lines still creased his smooth forehead.

The fire had died out in the night, as I expected. The rays of the sun came down from the opening I left in the snow wall. It was a beautiful day.

_Brother, it was not nothing. I felt your pain. This is Skill. You jabbed yourself on something sharp, but I cannot feel it._

Ah. Snowcloud was not as easy fooled as my Fool. She knew me and the Skill both, after all.

_It is truly nothing, Sister. I should have been more... careful. You know why._

I could feel her weariness. She looked at me and whined, lapping my face once. I sighed and smiled ruefully at my still worried friend.

"It is nothing. Some problem with the Skill" I told him, quietly. Understanding sparked in his dark eyes and he nodded, sighing. He put his hand on my shoulder.

Snowcloud chose that moment to turn toward the Fool and loll her tongue at him. An expression of alarm crossed my friend's features, and he raised a protective arm toward his face. Far too late, Snowcloud had put both her front paws on his chest and was busy washing his face between happy little barks and much tail wagging. The Fool’s muffled sounds of protest, like high-pitching squealing, were useless. I couldn't help laughing while I tossed away the blankets and prepared to stand.

In the end, Snowcloud was satisfied and left my Fool alone. He emerged again from the blankets, an expression of the purest indignation on his face, but a laugh in his eyes. He cleaned his face on the blankets, looking at both of us. I raised an eyebrow.

"She is just giving you the good morning" I said, deadpan. Snowcloud barked in agreement and waggled her tail, looking for all the world like an innocent puppy, one low-tipped ear hanging lower than the other. The Fool looked at her, then at me, then he crossed his arms over his chest and mimicked my expression. We looked at each other for a second. Then we both burst out laughing again, and Snowcloud's barks made the counter tone while she jumped happily in the air.

When the laugh was exhausted, I offered my arm to help my friend stand, mindful of his still weakened state. He gripped my forearm, and managed to put himself upright, even if he, like me, had to bow his head because of the low ceiling. He frowned, swaying a little. I kept my arm there, steadying him.

In the end he blinked a couple of times and nodded ruefully at me.

"You should recover in a couple more days. Speech may need one or two more, though" I commented, picking up his clothes from the now empty fireplace. They were dry. I nodded, satisfied. The small, well-insulated cave was still very warm, but outside it was too cold for my friend. When I noticed his gloves, though, a small sigh escaped my lips.

Yukan felt is the warmest of material, and it is supple, thin and useful. It only has one drawback: it becomes as hard as wood if wet and left to dry without being greased. The gloves my friend had used the day before were virtually useless.

He looked at them and made a face, sighing. He had finished to getting dressed and was looking at his hand mournfully, probably anticipating the cold of the winter morning.

I glanced at my pack and knelt, opening a small pouch and retrieving a spare pair of gloves. Experience in the mountains taught me never to go without two pairs.

"You can have these. I have other ones" I told him, and started to pack the blankets. He knelt close to me, and we folded them in a quiet silence, while Snowcloud sat and watched us.

_I don't understand why somebody thinks I should want hands. It is so much more comfortable not having them._

I snorted and watched her, amused, while piling the folded blankets in my backpack. I took out the marching rations I had left, and swung it on my shoulder. I fastened the battle axe at my belt and the un-strung bow on the backpack itself. I had trouble with that, but before I could take it down to pin the bow better, I felt two hands reaching to help me. I smiled over my shoulder at my Fool, in way of thanks.

I took the battle axe and swung it at the block of snow. It chipped out in sparking, iced flakes. It was hard work. The snow had been made ice by the temperature, and I was covered in small, iced fragment when in the end I could step out of the destroyed wall.

Snowcloud jumped over the small pile, and I turned to see if the Fool needed help. The sun chose that moment to come over the peaks, hitting us with its rays.

A thousand rainbows danced all around us on the snow. I looked around for a second, puzzled, before understanding that they came from me. I watched my gloved hand and laughed. The iced flakes on my white clothes reflected and fractured the light. I raised my eyes, to see my friend and share the wonder with him.

The Fool stood as frozen as the landscape around us, watching me with an expression that to this day I cannot name. Marvel, perhaps, or yearning. His bronze features were pinched, and he wasn't breathing, like he feared to shatter what he was seeing, his lips slightly parted in small, soundless wonder.

I a hand toward him to help, and he took it, letting out a breath in a small cloud. The movement brought me out of the sun, and the rainbows died away.

_Now it is your mate’s turn to gawk, Changer. Is this some kind of human mating ritual? How odd._

I closed my eyes, shaking my head at Snowcloud’s jest.

_You two are dangerous together, Sister. And he is not my mate._ I commented, while the Fool stepped carefully out of the cave. He could move, I noticed, almost without problems. I smiled noticing my gloves on his hands. Mine are bigger, less elegant than his and the gloves banged visibly. But they would keep his fingers warm. He noticed my gaze and smiled, bemused himself.

_So you say. And I don't know, as I told you. He seems amusing. And about mating, I could give you an hint or two..._

I glared at the wolf-dog, who was almost invisible on the white snow. She answered my look with the purest innocence and went to the Fool. My friend scratched her head. I sighed.

"It is time to go. We should be at the Temple before Midday." I latched my battle-axe at my belt and took out the field rations from my leather pouch. I gave one to Snowcloud, who tore happily at the oiled paper. She loved the ration of rendered fat, nuts, dried meat and dried berries. The taste was peculiar, but I got used to it, and the highly nutritious, light and long-preserving food was a lifesaver during a journey in the mountain.

I gave the other one to the Fool and turned, to watch the mountains. I knew where the Temple was, but the best route to go with my still weakened friend in tow would have to be reflected upon.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned. The Fool pointed at me and lifted the field ratio, then cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. I smiled at his expressive antics.

"I don't have another. I had not expected this. But yesterday you had only broth, you should eat now," I explained to him, while Snowcloud watched us both and licked her lips. The Fool frowned, ripped the ration in two, and offered me half. I smiled, amused, and shook my head .

"I had the hare yesterday" I reminded him. The Fool frowned again and thrust the half- ration at me, a stubborn set in his jaw. I sighed. "You won't eat if I don't take this," I said, and it wasn't a question. A half-smileformed on my friend lips. I smiled back and took the half-ration, shaking my head and starting to eat it, slowly. I frowned. When I turned again, I saw the Fool giving a portion to Snowcloud, who barked and took it delicately from his fingers.

_You make good choices with your bonded ones, Brother._

Ignoring Snowcloud, I pointed at a peak, not far away "It is on the other side of that. Stay close to me, and if you can't walk, lean on me"

He looked at the peak, nibbling at the ration. I guessed he still had problems swallowing. He nodded then, and gestured me toward it. I returned the gesture and, Snowcloud in front of us, started to walk.

It wasn't the most difficult hike I had ever had, but it wasn't the easiest either. In a couple of places, the Fool had to lean on me, or I to support him. On a particular difficult ravine, I noticed him watching me slide down with a puzzled expression. Ah. He was noticing that, too. He had always been perceptive.

_Perhaps you should just tell him._

I didn't even try to search for Snowcloud in the snow. _I will. I doubt he will give me a possibility not to._ I could feel Snowcloud’s amusement at my answer. _But not now,_ I added, supporting my friend for the last part of the slide and continuing to walk.

As I suspected, it was midday when we arrived at the White Temple.

The temple itself wasn't hard to spot: it was carved inside the mountain, and it was ancient. Probably, I alone knew how much. It lay at the bottom of another cliff, between two walls of ice and stone that brought memories far too dire for comfort. I shivered and not from the cold. I refused to turn towards my friend, not wanting to see in his eyes an echo of the memories that the place awakened in me, but we found ourselves walking more closely together. I found comfort in that. The sound of my feet echoed in the snowless gully, so it sounded like the Fool's feet made noise. Snowcloud was strangely silent.

_Apsa (Here). Yuul (Once). Ta (And). Akhel (Duty...Definition)_. I blinked and forced my eyes away from the faded writing on the stone architrave, feeling as cold as the mountain inside. I avoided looking at them and at the diamond encased in flint over the door, preferring to watch the Fool instead. He was regarding the temple with open revulsion.

"There is food inside, this I know. You should be safe" I said, and moved to turn and leave.

This time, there was no pain, perhaps because layers of clothes were between our bare skins. But his snakelike grip around my wrist was none the weaker for that. I looked with surprise at his hand on me, and then raised my eyes.

The look of pure stubbornness in his own eyes startled me. His jaw was set and his whole body spoke of determination. He would not hurt me, but neither would he let me go. I let out a cloud of breath into the still, cold air.

"Fool, you know you have to be alone here for the next two days. And, even more, you will have to be alone when you come back. I can't stay" I told him, quietly.

My friend's gaze didn't waver, nor did he lessen his grip on me. Far away, snow fell from a cliff.

I tore my eyes from him, and watched the rock face. Snowcloud was silent and vigilant. I lowered my head.

"In four tendays, you will have to be in Vietmar, to bless the new White Road between Fisil and Silvarin, and to decide about the creation of Water Roads." I raised my head to look into his eyes, seriously "I swear on my honor I shall be there in Fisil. And we will talk. Now I... cannot stay." I stood still and waited, my heart pounding without a reason. A multitude of emotions warred on my friend's face, but in the end, he reluctantly let go of my wrist. I breathed and smiled, a bit sadly."Thank you" He lowered his head, and touched his forehead to mine, in our old way, and he opened his lips, trying to speak, gripping my forearms. Twice he did it. I waited. He closed his bronze eyes and then opened them again and breathed.

"Fitz"

At the sound of my name, my old name, from his voice, something unraveled in me, something that had been clenched tight for more than thirty years. Tears misted my sight.

"Beloved" I choked "I have missed you".

As soon as I spoke, two strong arms were around my neck. I hugged him back, unable to stop if I wanted to. He hugged me fiercely, like he was afraid I was an apparition of mist and water, to disappear in the light. The feeling of his lithe body against mine awoke a maelstrom of emotions. I could not think of any of them for now. I breathed into his fine, sleek hair, and was happy.

I do not know how long we stood in the gully, silent, holding each other. Then he slowly, as every muscle had to be ordered to let go, released me.

I closed my eyes and turned my back to my friend and walked away. I could not see him and leave him. Snowcloud matched my stride, and did not speak of it.

I do not remember how I reached the place where I left my clothes. I think Snowcloud moved my body, and I was grateful for it. Dimly, Dimly, I used my Skill to alert Vien that I was coming.   

I woke from my grief when I stepped inside another small cave, and I looked at the bundle of clothes. I sighed and took off the white garments I wore, put on a yukan undershirt the same colour of dark amber, woven with silken threads to show a subtle watered effect not unlike warm honey, then pulled on the light golden tunic, embroidered with a gold thread in the pattern of a wolf head. The hem was a darker hue, embroidered in silver, to remind of clouds. I tied the light, fair silver sash around my waist. Clouds and wolves and deer chased each other over the sash. The trousers were made in the same way of the undershirt, but with a clearer shade, and the watered effect, that shone when I moved, was made to remind one of the sky at sunset. The material kept me warm. I sat on a rock and put on the boots, shining dark leather lacquered with a white, geometric pattern and raised, square tips. I had always refused to wear the headdress, and as such, dressing up was never too difficult. Still, I had surely mistook all the folds. Vien would have to help me. Again.

_Changer, the way is clear._

I nodded at Snowcloud, sending a wordless gratitude for her silence. A simple feeling of love and friendship was her answer. I bundled the forbidden clothes and walked down the mountain with great care. Those boots weren't as good on the snow as the ones I had before. I left the backpack, the bow and the battle-axe in the cave. I would take them out later.

I turned around a rock ~~,~~ and a small building greeted me. Its size belied its beauty and grace. Ever since I first came to this country, the delicacy of its houses had taken my breath away. It still does, after fourteen years. The house was a small, two-story pagoda, an octagon with curved eaves and subtle carvings, of flowers and mythical creatures unlike any I ever saw on the veranda. The columns that kept up the roofs were entwined branches.

Snowcloud ran towards the lacquered fulvous door, barking. I stopped to gaze unseeing at the amber encased in simple flint and closed my eyes. At Snowcloud's welcome, a boy in a long, straw-coloured tunic with tawny wide hems, dark eyes and black hair tied in two entwined pigtails and covered by a conic headdress, opened the door. He gasped at me and ran to take the bundle in my arm. I sighed, standing still in the snow.

"Vien, I can carry it inside, you know" I said, in the fluid language of Vietmar.

The man, for he was older than he looked, shook his head.

"Ah, King Chihn..." The young man sighed and shook his head, his hair dancing on his complicated dress. "Come inside, my King. The fire is going, and there is a warm bath ready"

I nodded to the eunuch and walked inside. The splendor of the place overwhelmed me for a second. All the shade of amber and soft brown illuminated the room. Subtle carvings, splendid tapestries and supple rugs enticed the eye. A delicate smell of incense permeated the air. A great fireplace, with a roaring fire, occupied two sides of the octagon. Vien started to throw my white clothes near the fire without questions. I sighed again and turned towards the stairs, grazing my fingertips along the carved and lacquered banister. When I was halfway up, I turned back.

"Prepare yourself. I have made the two days of required meditation. Tomorrow, we will take the White Road to Dushanbe. We must be back to Fisil as soon as possible"

He nodded and cast a glance at me, but said nothing.

_We have to be back home before the Scentless One_. I told Snowcloud, currently basking in front of the fire. She raised her head toward me.

_I do not understand, Changer. Just tell him._

I didn't answer. How could I explain it to my bond companion?

In the upper room, which was as beautiful as the lower one, I stripped and bathed. Vien had heard my Skill message, and warmed it for me.

I glanced around, at the house that had been the meditation dwelling of the Kings of Vietmar for as long as it was remembered. I had left it two days before, to save my friend and fulfill seventeen years of waiting and planning. Was it really only two days?

And how could Snowcloud understand how much there was to explain?


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi to all my 10 or so readers :)  
> This is the last chapter of White, next week we'll start the second part of the series. Stay tuned :)
> 
>  
> 
> If you have liked the first part, I would really appreciate to know it. If you can spare the time to comment, it would probably make my day :) 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, deep thanks to Carlile and Sand Dun. Don't know what I could do without them :D  
>  
> 
> NB: One of the character of this part is named after one of my favorite characters: Vanyel (Ashkevron) from Mercedes Lackey "The Last Herald-Mage Trilogy". I strongly suggest it. It is not serius stuff, but it is very good :) I took the name because I love both the name and the character, so it is a tribute to her ^_^

** Interlude **

 

_The child looks at the great megaloceros, kneeling in the high grasses. There are six adults: a stag and five does, and four fawns, grazing in the tall, hard grass of the immense prairie. The big animals enjoy their meal, partly sheltered from the merciless cold wind by a small hill nearby._

_All his senses are keen. His eyes, a dark shade of blue-grey not unlike flint, fix on the massive deer, noticing every shift of the big muscles under the fur. His small, slightly freckled nose is twitching in the air, smelling their scent and the rain soon to come. His ears, partially covered by straw-colored hair, notice every change in the cold wind. His outer sense vibrates and shifts, showing him all the creatures around him. He is not afraid. There is no big meat-eater in the proximity._

_The small boy grips the bone-tipped spear and grits his teeth, shuffling on bare feet to move forward, inch after painstaking inch. His life depends on this hunt. Normally, many hunters from a Cave would go to hunt the greatest of the deer, but he doesn't have that kind of reassurance, no hunt-brother to share the danger or the joy. The boy gazes at the great stag; his antler is at least three time as wide, from tip to tip, as the child is tall, and on his back there is a massive hump of pure muscle, necessary to bear the incredible weight._

_The little boy’s eyes turn from the stag, too big a prey, to a smaller – but still huge for the child – female. He frowns, concentrating his outer sense on her. He can feel a shift in her energy, a minute difference in her patterns. The doe is unwell, but not ill. The keen sixth sense of the child is sharp and attuned to the wildlife. He knows the difference. He glances at the fawn, the smallest of the four, and an inkling of the cause behind the doe’s diminished life energy comes to him. ~~~~_

_He puts the spear in the spear-thrower and cautiously puts it on his shoulder, two dirty fingers in the holes. The spear-thrower is old and worn, waste from an accomplished hunter, but still good._

_He waits until the wind blows in the correct direction, indifferent to the fine shower that is starting to wet his worn leather clothes and light brown skin, with the patience of the predator and intense concentration on his childish face. His heart beats calmly. He can't afford nervousness._

_Then he lets go of a high-pitched scream and springs from his hiding place, throwing the spear._

_The sound startles the megaloceros and the stag bells running away from the unknown danger. His four does and three fawns follows him, but one, the fifth, hit behind her forepaw, stumbles and trips. The child screams again, partly sharing the pain of the creature, partly in joy for the deathly blow dealt. The heart is not touched, but the lungs are._

_He takes the second spear of wood and bone ~~,~~ and watches the dying doe, unsure. He looks at the fawn belling close to his mother. _

_The child hesitates. The fawn won't survive without its mother, and sending its spirit quickly back to the Mother Earth would be an act of kindness. But then again, the pain of the doe prickles at his outer sense like a rain of hard, red blotches. Giving her a quick death too would be a good act in front of the Mother. And he only has one other spear. He frowns and watches the thrashing doe for a second before pouncing and, the bucking hooves missing his skin for a leaf, pushing the still embedded spear deeper inside the animal's flank. The doe bells one last time and one of the notes of life whiskers out of the child's sense. A shadow of loss clouds his stone-like eyes for a moment, before he takes the spear from the doe's flank and put it in the spear thrower. He watches the fawn, almost as tall as he is, not so far away. A throw for a child younger than he is, even one not trained by the harsh mistress of necessity._

_The child does not miss._

____

_The child is watching the other child from the top of the hill. He is crouched behind a boulder, his colorless eyes intent on the foreign scene in front of him._

_His skin is white – not light pink, but the same white of the snow – and so is his poufy, fine hair. The lack of colour would make him an easy sight on the green and gray world. So would his complex clothes, so different from the bare, old leather of the other child that they seem to come from another world. Perhaps they do. They are warm, even if worn and stained, and not made of animal skins, but woven with green and blue threads. On his slender neck there is a necklace of gold and a single stone, a tear-shaped opal, rests against his heart. But the animals depend on scent, and the child-watcher hasn't any, while the child-hunter is leaning on his outer sense, and the child-watcher is invisible to it. A lucky chance, since the child-watcher is unaware of the child-hunter's ability._  

_Despite the cold, the child-watcher’s heart beats fast and his slender finger grips the bare tree nearby. He watches, fascinated, the life and death scene below. The small nose turns a little at the blood but the pale eyes sparkles at the child-hunter's courage in delivering the final blow to the doe, even if the finer point of the reasoning is lost to him._

_Courage will be needed, one day. It is good to see it now._

_Still, the hunter child seems barbarian, a savage to the watcher-child. His clothes and behavior are strange and slightly distasteful. But the hunter-child also shines with thousands of possibilities, shifting and shimmering around him like the colour of the sacred stone resting on his heart._

_The watcher-child sighs._

_That boy is his **other same.** He knows it as he knows the beating of his heart. He will have to do. Perhaps he can be... refined a little. _

_He watches the scene again, his stomach rumbling. He hasn’t eaten in two days. And, before that lucky find of meat, he would not have eaten for three. He grits his teeth. Hunger is unimportant now._

_The white child debates with himself the possibility of coming out of his refuge. The shower makes him sigh and he grips his cloak tighter around him. It is waterproof and warm, but not enough. He watches the child hunter butchering the two animals, sees him pant while he tries to skin the doe and the frowns. It doesn't seem work for a lone child. He looks around, wondering where his **other same** 's  people are. He stands up, peering around the boulder, but the mud is slippery under his brown boots. He loses his balance and even though with the grace of his kind he manages not to fall, he trips down the hill, sliding with the mud. _

_The hunter child is already on his feet when the watcher-child is halfway down the hill, spear in hand, his small face dirty with the blood that encrusts both his hair and his clothes._

_The watcher-child raises his eyes again, trying to get a foothold on the slippery surface. He almost succeeds, but the weakness from the lack of food takes him and he falls again, hitting his head on a rock._

_Silence._  

____

_The hunter-child notices the colorful spirit slide down the hill. A jumble of confusing emotions play over his blood-marred features: surprise, fear, astonishment, merriment and perplexity. He puts the spear in the ground and takes the flint knife he was using to skin the big doe in his left hand. It is not a true knife, merely a sharp flake, a leftover from one of the shapers of his Cave, with a handle badly inserted by him._

_Slowly, he goes toward the spirit. He kneels and watches, curiously. The spirit, for a spirit he must be since he doesn't weave with the rest of the Great Mother's Children, is small, a child-spirit, with strange clothes and very white skin and hair. He hesitantly touches the fabric of the clothes, and then lowers himself to smell it. He smiles, fascinated. His small, dirty hands touch the spirit's face and he frowns. The spirit is quite cold. Then they dance over his body and again the child frowns, perplexed. The spirit is very lean, he can feels all the ribs. He knew nothing of spirits, the True Mothers are careful to make sure he doesn't, but he doesn't think they are supposed to be this... thin. He hesitates again and watches the doe. There are no meat-eaters around, and the rain ensures that the smell of his kill will not travel to them._

_He puts his hand under the spirit's arm and heaves, half-carrying and half-_ _tugging the spirit where he left his meager belongings. The hunter-child deftly pitches his tent. Like everything else he owns, it is left behind from the True Hunters, and it is old and worn and stained, though the leather is good and heavy and the wooden frame still good enough even if its age makes it a little harder to set. But the hunter-child doesn't know easy._

_He pitches the tent and, inside, revives an ember he had brought in the hollow horn of a bison, making a fire, the wood already gathered in the proximity of the place where he left his things. Shoddiness means death and the hunter-child knows it in the same way he knows the colour of the sky._

_The tent, once set, is roughly circular and low for an adult, if comfortable for a child. He puts the spirit-child inside the tent, with the fire going and fuels to last for an hour. He hesitates a second, then leaves the spirit one of his precious travel-rations. He has to steal those, since he can't make them. But appeasing the spirits is good, and that one looked hungry._

_Satisfied to have done what he could, he stands and leaves to continue his work._

____

_The white child opens his eyes and blinks in confusion. He is warm. He is dry. And something important has just happened._

_He rises, a hand on his head. He is in pain. He looks around ~~,~~ and notices the ration. His colorless eyes widen. He grabs and eats it,  the oily flavour of the fat, the berries and the meat explode ~~s~~ in his mouth. It is good. _

_He smiles._

_He looks around, licking the last of the fat from his fingers. He frowns at the roughness of the temporary dwelling and then stops, lies still and blinks again._

_He stands, a little unsure on his legs, and walks out._

_It is still raining. The child-hunter is kneeling over the haunches of the mighty deer. He has skinned the whole animal, and the skin, ready to become leather, is close by. The child-hunter slices at the meat with a stone knife._

_The white-child walks towards him, his feet silent, and wrinkles his nose again at the bloody job, studying with morbid fascination the red liquid draining away and giving the mud a stronger colour._

_He hesitates, and for the first time in many, many months feels a flicker of uncertainly. He notices how his clothes are dirty and muddy, how more mud plasters his fine, white hair, how dirty his small, lean hands are. He sucks his lower lip, chewing on it._

_The hunter-child stands up, an armful of bloody strings of meat in his arm, and turns around._

_Dark blue-gray eyes met colorless ones._

_The two children freeze, watching each other, bloodied, covered in mud and dirt. Then, the hunter-child speaks:_

_"You aren't a spirit, are you?"_

_The white-child blinks ~~,~~ and shakes his head, muted by surprise and by the harsh sound of the hunter-child tongue. He has learnt it, but it sounds rough to his untrained ears._

_"Who are you then?"_

_The white-child opens his mounth and hesitates among the many possibilities, but before he can decide, his heart speaks the truth for him._

_"Vanyel. I am Vanyel."_

_The hunter-child nods and watches Vanyel carefully, making him squirm a little._

_"I am Modred. But I am called Flint."_

_The white-child, Vanyel, nods, his eyes brightening. Yes. Flint. He saw it._

_Again, the two children watch each other and, without a reason, they smile._

_A ray of sun breaks the clouds._

_The rain stops._


End file.
